In the Hour Before the Dawn
by Mede
Summary: During the First Rise the Order of the Phoenix met in a secured room on the upper floor of the Hog's Head tavern. One night, someone walked in on them. AU. Time travel.


Vocab words of the day (so you can defend your fanfiction habit as being "educational, too...") (and, you know, because they're in this fic):

coruscating: think glowing, pulsing;

and

androgyne: someone with an androgynous face, who might be male or female. Think Johnny Depp in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, except he looked male in that to me...

.

**In the Hour Before the Dawn**

_In 1978 the Dark Lord Voldemort held sway over one-third of Magical Britain and was still on the rise. His goals were to "purify" the entire country of all those of unclean heritage and control the entire culture and all its remaining members. Other European countries, still recovering from the devastation of the second World War, refused to involve themselves. Life expectancy for any who opposed him, inconvenienced him, or uttered a word against him was an average of three weeks. Any who spoke his name were rumored to disappear. The Ministry of Magic, in their desperation to contain his influence, authorized the same dark Unforgiveables he cast to be used against him and threw into prison any suspected of aligning with him. Two Hogwarts graduates named James Potter and Lily Evans had only just been married. The Prophecy offering hope of a savior and deliverance would not be spoken for another two years._

The Order of the Phoenix, a resistance group formed by one of the most powerful wizards still alive in Britain, Albus Dumbledore, was meeting in one of the upper rooms of the Hog's Head tavern in Hogsmeade. The only security offered was it being owned by Dumbledore's brother, but there was no more security to be found anywhere else. They locked the only door to the room, warded all the walls for privacy, huddled around the table in the center only illuminated by firelight and candles and spoke in low, weary voices.

A report on Death Eater activity was interrupted when the door opened. Everyone around the table froze in shock, for Dumbledore was the one who had locked it and no one should be able to get past Dumbledore's spells but the Dark Lord himself. Half of them brought up their wands and aimed, spells hanging on their lips.

The figure at the doorway, a trifle short but strictly ordinary-looking in those times in a feature-concealing dark cloak but not a whit less suspicious, stood there for a second, hand still on the knob, then said almost sleepily, "Oh. Sorry. Wrong room. Excuse me."

The stranger turned and closed the door with a quiet _click_ behind itself. For a second most of the Order continued sitting there, still in shock. Dumbledore quickly and silently rose and strode to the door, opening it just as quietly, then stepped out into the hallway and spotted the stranger just opening the next door down and starting to enter.

"Sir," Dumbledore said in a low but unmistakably commanding tone, "or madam?"

The stranger paused, half-turned, and smiled through the obscurement of the cloak hood's shadow. "Yes," it agreed unhelpfully.

Several Order members silently filled the doorway behind Dumbledore, watching, ready to reinforce their leader or defend themselves if necessary. Dumbledore's wand was not visible in his hand but neither was his hand visible underneath his robe sleeve.

Then the stranger, with two empty hands, reached up and lowered the hood of the cloak, revealing a youngish, unremarkable face framed by short brown hair that at first and second glance seemed androgynous—a mildly feminine male, or a somewhat unfeminine female. The expression suggested obliviousness to the tension hanging thick in the air.

"Whichever you prefer," it added in a soft, unhurried voice that offered no further indication of gender. "Again, my apology. No intrusion meant. I wasn't paying enough attention. Is there something besides an apology I could offer if that alone isn't enough?"

"A few moments of your time, and a few questions answered," Dumbledore answered with an almost tight nod to civility. The War could turn the gentlest man hard.

The stranger's gaze flicked from him to each of the faces in the doorway behind him, impersonal, almost incurious. Then it shrugged one shoulder slightly. "All right," it said. "Ask what you will."

"Not here," Dumbledore said. He gestured to the meeting room.

The stranger smiled absently again and moved toward it, murmuring, "As long as it doesn't bother you the second time." It passed between the Order members, who drew away from it, without touching any of them and entered the room. One of the members, with a heavily distrusting expression, pointed to a chair at one of the long sides of the table for it to sit. Dumbledore sat down opposite it. The rest of the Order stood in a loose, wary circle around the room. Firelight masked and cast shadows that made half of them impossible to identify.

"Ask what you will," the stranger repeated, still seeming entirely unaffected by the situation.

Dumbledore's eyes fixed on the stranger's across the table. The Order knew he was preparing his Legilimency, a Mind Art he used to determine if the one speaking to him was truthful. "Who are you?" he asked.

The stranger sat still for a moment, then let out a soft sigh; its gaze wandered away. "Someone looking for rest."

Several members stirred but remained in place. Non-answers were dangerous indicators.

Then it looked back to Dumbledore again before he could respond. "I'm here to be anonymous," it said simply. "I understand the worry of these times, but in exchange for my trust, may I ask for yours?"

"In what matter?" Dumbledore asked, eyes barely narrowing. "Blanket 'trust' is not something given to strangers these days."

"In one matter only." The stranger smiled sleepily, entirely unbothered and possibly trusting already. "I'm wearing a glamor. In exchange for that honesty, I ask you not to attempt to remove it."

The Order stood uneasily, held in place only by their leader's control of the situation. The unrecognized face was meaningless if it was a glamor—underneath it could be an informant, a spy, even an actual Death Eater.

"You ask a great deal from us with that request, after telling us such a thing," Dumbledore said softly.

"I know." The stranger's head turned, its gaze seeming to drift along in its wake.

"You can offer us no further reason?" Dumbledore pressed.

The stranger's head turned back, attention still ethereal. "I mean no threat to your presence. I mean no threat to your secrets. I stand with your side of the schism in this country," it said. "And that's all."

Dumbledore sat in silence for a moment, then changed subjects, leaving the previous on hold. "Why are you here?"

The stranger sighed softly again, and smiled faintly, gaze wandering away from the other's again. "Too many answers to that to choose easily."

After a moment it said, "Partly because I was sent. Partly because I chose. Mostly for peace."

"For you to have peace?" Dumbledore asked, allowing a visible frown. "Here and now?" There was no peace under Voldemort's constant threat.

"I suppose it would seem that way to you," the stranger murmured, almost to itself. "Not the others."

The Order certainly thought it seemed that way too. They assumed the stranger must be referring to other people it knew.

"How much do you know?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

The stranger looked at him again, for a moment, in silence. "Very little that's for me to tell you." Then it smiled unexpectedly, a mischievous little smile gone before it registered. "Much that you've told me."

The Order bridled in shock. This stranger was someone they knew? Why the disguise, then? Who?

"Who are you?" Dumbledore repeated more forcefully.

"No one you know." The stranger put its hands on the table and rose. "I'm tired. I Vow I will speak of this to no one and will not leave the bounds of this village before this time tomorrow morning, pox grip me and curse bind me. I'm going to sleep now. Goodnight."

The Order watched it go, stunned by such a lightly given Wizards' Oath. After a moment, at a quiet word from Dumbledore, one of the members followed and confirmed that the stranger had gone into its room and stayed there. The members then regathered around the table and several long, wearying hours passed in debate over the mysterious androgyne, even just the basic question of gender, with little resolution. A few of the female members wondered, privately or in undertones, at the seeming youth evident in the stranger's voice and some of its phrasing—although the War hardly left children unaffected. Some of the Order itself was barely past graduation.

It occurred to several others that one question they hadn't asked was where the stranger was from, although the importance of that question seemed dubious. It had had a British accent. But any more answers would have to wait for the morning. Dumbledore finally dismissed all the members to get what rest they could, staying behind himself to ensure the stranger's continued presence for the night.

The sun rose over Hogsmeade village to a stillness abruptly shattered by rising screams, shouts, and growing panic in the distance. The Dark Lord was attacking.

Dumbledore rose faster than his great age belied and reached the street in seconds, wand in hand, right in front a white-masked black-robed Death Eater. Before it could curse him or he it the mask burst off, revealing one of the Rosier brothers' faces with eyes bulging with surprise, and a second later the brother toppled. Behind him the glamored androgyne stood with wand pointed, looking younger even than the latest recruited Order members in the morning sunlight, then took a long smooth step backward, placing its back against a wall in the shadows and sweeping its gaze and wand in a rapid semicircle with detached efficiency. It was a disconcerting expression on such a youthful-looking face.

Dumbledore cast a rapid secret spell to summon all the Order to him at their greatest urgency.

A moment later Voldemort himself appeared at the end of the street, tall and cool and arrogantly coruscating with confidence and power. Dumbledore narrowed his eyes and prepared to duel. Two of the Death Eaters raised their wands skyward and started to form the first syllable of the spell that would hang the Dark Mark over the chosen site of destruction.

A stream of colored light so thin as to be a thread hit each of them before they could finish, one right after the other. The malevolent green light growing from their wandtips abruptly changed course and sprang around their necks, strangling them rapidly and implacably. Dumbledore glanced to the androgyne automatically to see if it was responsible only to find it already moved from that spot and gone.

Order members began arriving, in random spots around the village as they Apparated, and immediately jumped into the confusion against Voldemort's servants. Villagers screamed and ran and mostly made dangerous distractions of themselves. Dumbledore strode forward to confront the Dark Lord before he started picking any of them off for his twisted amusement.

A strange voice cut through the fear and the noise in a strange, intent, almost mocking not-quite-melody:

"_Tom, Tom, the pauper's son,_

_Stole a life and away did run."_

Order members and Death Eaters too busy with one another to notice anything else continued their battles. Others not quite busy enough faltered, confused; some were taken advantage of by their opponents; the rest quickly realized that weakness and started pulling back slightly, grouping together, to their respective forces. Dumbledore kept his focus on Voldemort, though he tried circumspectly to locate the source of the rhyme and, again, the androgyne. Voldemort wore an expression that might have been incredulity or rage.

"_The life was strong,_

_And Tom was wrong,_

_And Tom went hoarding_

_Seven lives long."_

Voldemort _Crucio_'d three people in under five seconds without even looking at them, still obviously searching for the speaker. He _Crucio_'d three more as soon as the voice ended. The screams fueled the Death Eaters and they began to press the Order back, while the remaining villagers went into even greater panic. At least half their original number had reached hiding.

"Who dares?" the Dark Lord hissed, his voice somehow carrying clearly through the cacophony. "Who dares utter such an _absurd_ nursery rhyme?"

"Rock-a-bye Tommy in the tree top," the androgyne said, appearing at the corner of the building just ahead of the tavern, its tone speaking instead of sing-song again. Its wand was in hand, but held idly; its stance was relaxed, almost uncaring of danger. "No cradle for rocking 'cause Mummy did drop."

Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at it. It ducked, one swift, smooth motion, and then rose as the curse impacted the wall behind it and dissipated.

"I know lots more if you want them," the androgyne said.

"I am going to kill you _personally_," Voldemort hissed, stalking toward it.

"I'm honored," the androgyne said. "I know a little secret, however, that I'm afraid makes the honor completely pointless. Would you like to know what it is?"

Voldemort cast another half dozen spells in rapid succession. The androgyne wove around them all, somehow using its wand to help for several seconds but not actually countering. Dumbledore shifted to the side several steps to get a clearer shot to draw the Dark Lord's attention to him instead of the stranger.

"Shan't say if you don't ask," the androgyne said.

Dumbledore jumped into the fight. He was at least as powerful as Voldemort, but the Dark Lord had delved deeply into a branch of magic Dumbledore refused to make use of and he was therefore hard pressed to combat him beyond countering. The androgyne remained where it was, barely on the periphery of the duel, neither moving nor participating.

"After I take care of you, Dumbledore, I am going to _torture_ your little stooge," Voldemort hissed at him, as spells and curses flew in awesome effect. "Perhaps you'll even live long enough to watch."

More Order members were still arriving, ganging up on the Death Eaters, but both leaders were too busy to notice. The androgyne twirled its wand in an odd motion and started to repeat,

"_Tom, Tom, the pauper's son—"_

"_Avada Kedavra!_" Voldemort snarled, flinging another Killing Curse with barely a pause for Dumbledore to press. The androgyne ducked and came up unharmed, then started forward into the duel, bobbing and skipping with every step to avoid being hurt, as collected and focused on the wizards instead of their magic as if it were a choreographed part in a dance.

"I know a secret, Tom," it said softly, eyes fixed on him as it came ever closer, while Dumbledore tried frantically to keep hitting one and avoid hitting the other. Its voice rose to normal, even to carrying, as it spoke. "Don't you want to know a secret about you? Aren't you just a little bit curious?"

The Dark Lord sent another curse at it. It bent sideways from the waist and back and continued.

"All right, I'll tell you. Listen closely, Tom—_I survived you_."

Both Voldemort's and Dumbledore's spells missed without even being countered, but they both immediately pressed each other harder in retaliation.

"I am a Child Who Lived," the voice carried on relentlessly, implacably. "I outlived you. You _die_. And would you like to know what should scare you most?"

Dumbledore and the Dark Lord kept dueling, and the Order and the Death Eaters kept dueling, but everyone could hear the androgynous voice and none could help listening.

"_I'm not the only one_." A smug, secret, glad whisper. Very few spells cast at that moment hit any targets. "You die, Tom. And all the world that's left, every one of us, are the Children Who Lived—the children who are going to make sure that you never live again."

The Death Eaters were affected worse by the speech than the Order, and their distractions were their undoing. The Order began herding them in, picking them off, and incapacitating them. Dumbledore and Voldemort continued fighting each other as fiercely as ever.

"It doesn't matter where you go. It doesn't matter when you come back," the androgyne taunted. "Because it's our country now, and we'll hold it, and we'll keep it. And every time you come we'll recognize you and we'll destroy you and that'll be one less life for you because you only have so many and you can't make any more than your magic number. Can you Tommy? _Seven little six little five little secret souls—"_

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_" Voldemort roared, spinning and aiming curse after curse at the dancing androgyne. For an instant Dumbledore started to shield it out of instinct, but he realized its purpose and mastered himself, instead attacking the Dark Lord one more time while he left himself defenseless in his blind rage.

Voldemort was forced to flee the barrage, Apparating away, unwilling to fight at a disadvantage. All of his Death Eaters able followed.

Too used to such abruptly begun and ended melees to be left at a loss of what to do, the Order began cleaning up, patching up injured members at least to a makeshift degree, moving around checking on and reassuring villagers, and gradually clustering around their leader instinctively seeking answers to the unexpected events during the shortlived battle. The androgyne disappeared during it, only to reappear again standing placidly near Dumbledore's side.

"My Oath has ended," it said. "I'm going to go now."

Dumbledore looked at it and nodded slowly, understanding or at least suspecting more than the others had of the stranger's words. One of the members took a step forward and blurted, "Wait! Take off the glamor first!"

The androgyne looked around at them with an expression of impersonal curiosity. "Why?"

"Just to know what you look like," another member said. "We want to. You don't even have to give us your name."

For a moment longer it kept looking, as if it might have been searching their faces for something. Then it said, "All right. Cast the spell."

One of them quickly cast _Finite Incantatem_. The glamor blurred, then dissolved, exactly as it was supposed to… to reveal an identical face beneath it, not even more or less male or female. For a second the Order stared, too stunned to react.

"What was the _point!_" one finally recovered enough to cry, hurt and disappointed. "Who are you!"

The androgyne grinned. "I have another secret," it said, while one hand rose to and enclosed something on a chain around its neck under its robe. "Would you like to see?"

It started to fade slowly from sight where it stood, obviously using some kind of magical transport to leave even though it didn't match Apparating or Portkeying. As it did so, its face and hair suddenly started cycling through shapes and colors, from a freckled curly blond girl to a sharp-eared hazel- and blue- odd-eyed young man to a pig-nosed near-hag. Several Order members were shocked silent; several exclaimed over the stranger being a Metamorphmagus.

"Who _was_ that!" one member rounded on Dumbledore, venting frustration.

"A child who lived," Dumbledore murmured, smiling distantly, as the unnamed Metamorphmagus disappeared completely. "A child from our future, I think—from Voldemort's defeat." He turned to look at his Order and smiled again. "Our children survive him."

The Order stirred and murmured, still wondering how such a thing could be possible, but none could be displeased at that answer. It gave them hope to continue a formerly bleak struggle. Two years later, a baby named Harry Potter was born to two of the members and cost the Dark Lord the first of his secretly multiple lives—the first, but not the only, of the Children Who Lived.

_It was said, when the First Rise (then simply the War) was over and duly fell into the pages of history books, that Hogsmeade village was the only wizarding center to have remained free from the Dark Lord's control for the entire period. Much speculation was given to why he ignored it, or if his attempts were merely subtle and foiled, presumably by Albus Dumbledore._

_It was in Hogsmeade during the Second Rise that the children of the resistance, known as Dumbledore's Army, found shelter and succor in the hidden rooms of the Hog's Head tavern, from which their leader the Boy Who Lived finally defeated and banished the Dark Lord for all time, and from which the children then set forth under their late mentor's arcane learning with his plans for the rebuilding and strengthening of the wizarding world—present and past._

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A/N: So yeah... basically this can be about as AU as the reader decides--the androgyne could be from Harry's year group, or nextgen... my sister, who kindly betaread this for me, told me I should mention that it is not specifically Teddy Lupin. I didn't write it with anybody particular in mind. Sorry if that drives anybody nuts. :) If anyone else is interested in expanding on this idea, feel free; just please let me know if you post anything since I'd love to see what someone else comes up with. :)

Also, if anyone reading this has also read my other HP fic On a Train, rest assured I am still continuing it. I actually have third year written, but for some reason it just refuses to be funny, so right now I'm trying to figure out how to rewrite it without really changing much except the writing. *Sigh* Anyway, reviews would be hugely appreciated...


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